


Historical Accuracy Is Irrelevant In Exploitation Cinema

by Ningikuga



Category: That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: Caning, D/s scene, M/M, Other, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 21:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7590403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ningikuga/pseuds/Ningikuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinema Snob has once again failed to get Film Brain to dress up in a Nazi uniform.  Fortunately for them both, there are other ways to dress up for a scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Historical Accuracy Is Irrelevant In Exploitation Cinema

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://tgwtg-meme.livejournal.com/1329.html?thread=1527857#t1527857). Mentions other current and former Channel Awesome members; intended to take place sometime in the anniversary film continuity after To Boldly Flee. Warning for Nazi mention, although it bears little relevance to the proceedings.
> 
> This work is intended to depict the characters/personae, not real people, and absolutely no implications about the people who write and play those characters are intended or should be inferred.

“I told you,” Film Brain grumbled. “No Nazis. You know there are still unexploded bombs randomly sprinkled across the British countryside from the Blitz, even today, right?”

Snob sniffed loudly and threw himself onto the hotel bed. The springs squeaked loudly, which sort of ruined the effect. “Fine, I get it,” he griped back. “It’s just a fantasy, anyway.” He straightened his shirt and flashed a fake smile in Film Brain’s direction. “Doesn’t have to ruin our evening, right?”

“I think Phelous bleeding all over my socks earlier did that job already,” Film Brain replied, looking down at his feet. “He’s not going to be able to gross out Oancitizen; I keep telling him that. Why does Critic still throw these parties?”

“Either he’s too stupid to figure out that they always end badly, or he doesn’t care and he wants to lord it over all of us peons no matter how much of a mess it makes,” Snob guessed. “Honestly, I’d forgotten about that part; I was too busy watching MarzGurl having a dance-off with Nella and the Rap Critic in the jello pool.”

“You would,” Film Brain sniffed. “I’m going to wash my feet and change out of these jeans.” He grabbed a garment bag from the cramped closet and ducked into the hotel room’s tiny bathroom.

Snob listened to the water running while he pondered whether they should have left. He was reasonably sure Linkara was capable of preventing anything seriously horrific from happening, assuming he was paying attention; on the other hand, Chick was certainly paying enough attention, but he wasn’t positive she could actually stop things if they got out of hand. He’d just have to trust that the two of them together could keep a lid on things and hope Insano didn’t show up to the party.

The water had been running an awfully long time. Had Phelous really made that much of a mess? Snob wondered vaguely whether he should call him and make sure he was okay. He was toying with his phone, still thinking about it, when the water finally shut off with a squeak. The door opened, disgorging a cloud of steam and Film Brain, standing ramrod straight in what was certainly not a Nazi uniform.

Prussian, maybe?

He was wearing narrow-cut black trousers with red double stripes down the sides; a dark blue tunic-style jacket with red and gold piping, brass buttons, a gold sash, a stiff red and white collar, and gold braided epaulets; and a short-visored black shako helmet with a red plume. His hands were encased in white, form-fitting gloves; his feet were in knee-high black boots, polished to a fine shine. His face wore a proud smirk as he tapped the business end of a long black riding crop against the heel of his left hand.

Snob nearly hurt his cheeks smiling so hard and so fast. “Oh, that’ll work,” he giggled, sliding to the edge of the bed.

“I imagine it will,” Film Brain drawled. “Get off the bed and polish these boots.” He swept the crop back and forth once, making the air hum in its wake.

“Yes, sir!” Snob slithered off the bed and landed on his knees at Film Brain’s feet. “What should I use to polish them, sir?”

Film Brain sniffed. “I suppose your shirt will do,” he said, sounding a little bored with the whole thing already.

Snob yanked his jacket off, tossed it aside, and unbuttoned his shirt, stripping it off and folding up carefully so the buttons were all on the inside. The boots looked pretty shiny already, but Snob buffed every inch, making sure there wasn’t a speck of dust left.

“Hmm. I need to inspect your work,” Film Brain noted. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Snob complied, arching his back and wriggling his ass as he did so. He was not rewarded with a swat from the crop; instead, Film Brain planted one foot firmly on Snob’s shoulders and made a show of inspecting the boot from every angle. He finally admitted, “Well, this one’s not too bad.”

“Thank you, sir,” Snob said as Film Brain set that foot back on the floor and propped the other heel between his shoulder blades.

After a few seconds, Film Brain tisked twice, loudly. “You missed a spot, right here,” he chided, indicating a tiny spot on the leather that wasn’t quite buffed to the same sheen as the rest. “I’ll have to punish you for that, you know.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir,” Snob replied, trying not to giggle. On the one hand, laughing would probably get him punished harder, which could be fun; on the other hand, it probably reduced his chances of getting to take the uniform off of Film Brain once the whipping was over. “Where do you want me?”

Film Brain pondered that for a moment. “Well, if you stay where you are,” he decided, “I could give you twenty strokes on your back. If you take off your trousers and bend over the edge of the bed, I could give you twenty-four strokes on your arse instead. Which seems like the more appropriate punishment to you?”

“If it makes no difference to you, sir, I think two dozen strokes on the ass would teach me a better lesson,” Snob said, not yet moving. Just the thought of Film Brain swinging that crop at his naked ass was getting him hard already.

“Get in position, then,” Film Brain yawned. Only the pink in his cheeks betrayed any interest in what was going on; it was too cold in here for that to just be the uniform being too warm.

Snob shimmied out of his trousers and boxers and folded himself over the edge of the bed, arching his back to stick his ass up in the air. Carefully, he tucked his balls forward; no sense in risking a stray slap on those from the crop. God, he was rock hard, and his dick hadn’t even been touched yet.

“Are you ready to take your punishment?” Film Brain asked, still sounding bored.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Snob all but shouted.

“Then count off,” Film Brain said, stepping back and winding up.

The first blow landed with a noisy slap, but not much impact; it was mostly the tip of the crop. “One!” Snob announced.

The next three were much the same, more noise than pain. Then Snob heard Film Brain adjusting his grip behind him, and he tried not to tense up. The next one landed with the flat of the crop square across his left buttcheek. “Five!” he squeaked.

The pattern continued; Film Brain was ramping up how hard the crop was falling in groups of four, spacing them out just enough for Snob to get some breathing room between blows, but not enough for him to get used to the sensation and zone out. By the time he was gulping out “Thirteen!”, he was pretty sure Film Brain was using the shaft of the crop as well as the tip. Oh, he was going to have bruises tomorrow. “Fourteen!”

After sixteen, Film Brain paused and ran his gloved hand down Snob’s ass. “You have eight more to go,” he chuckled. “How does that make you feel?”

Snob forced himself to breathe. “Damned good, sir!” he half-shouted. This was a lot of sensation to take in, but he wasn’t overloading, not yet.

Film Brain’s hand ducked between Snob’s legs, fondled his balls, stroked his dick once and let go. “Do you think you can take it harder for me?” he asked, his voice much warmer now.

“Yes, sir!” Snob wasn’t actually sure, but he wanted to try, wanted Film Brain to smile in that coat and those gloves and tell him how well he’d done.

“Count off again, starting where we left off,” Film Brain commanded. The crop sang as it flew through the air, a low hum before it hit flesh like a drum.

Snob winced. “Seventeen!”

Now each one was coming down harder and faster, with no time to breathe through them before the next one fell. Snob could hear Film Brain grunting with the effort. “Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three!”

Another pause, and Snob felt Film Brain’s hands on him again, this time without the gloves. “Mmm, so pretty,” Film Brain crooned. “I’d love to smack this arse with something else.”

“Yes, sir, whatever you want to do to me, sir!” Snob yelped.

He expected to hear a zipper and didn’t. Apparently this was a good enough reproduction that the fly buttoned instead. He did hear the crinkle of the condom wrapper, and felt cool lubricant right next to hot, tender skin as Film Brain slid one finger in, then two.

If he could relax enough to take twenty-three strokes from that crop, one dick wasn’t going to be any problem. Snob pushed back impatiently as one finger was replaced with two.

“Good grief, be patient,” Film Brain laughed, falling out of character for a moment.

“I’ll try, sir,” Snob replied dryly. He was rewarded for his obedience with Film Brain’s dick easing into him, going slower than usual. That was a relief; he was pretty sure he was sore, or at least going to be. Maybe the fabric from the uniform would cushion things a bit.

Sure enough, when Film Brain started pushing harder, slamming his hips into Snob’s ass, there was a distinct sting to it. By that point, though, Snob didn’t care; Film Brain was hitting the sweet spot, and Snob could just about fly to the moon.

“Take it, you filthy commoner,” Film Brain hissed through gritted teeth. “Take it all!”

“I’ll take anything you give me, sir,” Snob gasped back as Film Brain grabbed Snob’s hips and dug his fingers into this sides.

“Tell me you want it,” Film Brain said, as a pleading note crept into his voice.

“I want everything you can dish out,” Snob answered. “I want you to show me how strong you are, how noble you are; I want you to show me how much I can take, how strong I am.” He paused to let out a low moan as Film Brain changed his angle. “I want you to fill me up,” he finished. “I want to feel you nut in me.”

Film Brain shuddered from head to toe. “I think I can do that for you,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Just a couple more -”

“Fuck me,” Snob groaned, his hands making fists in the hotel duvet.

Film Brain shouted something unintelligible and gripped Snob’s waist even harder as he came, his legs shaking between Snob’s. For a few moments, he was still; then he stepped back, still breathing hard enough for Snob to hear.

The tip of the crop came down on Snob’s sweaty ass, just hard enough to make a loud smack. Snob was almost too surprised to remember to count. “Twenty-four,” he blurted.

“Oh, God, get this off of me; it itches!” Film Brain yelped. 

Snob turned around; Film Brain had already ditched the helmet and, as he’d already guessed, the gloves. Snob grinned and attacked the buttons on the coat with gusto.

“Off, off, I want it off,” Film Brain murmured, trying to peel off the trousers and getting them hopelessly tangled with the boots. “Snob, that was really hard; how do you do that for an entire evening?”

Snob wrestled the jacket off of him, then went after the t-shirt underneath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess it just comes naturally to me. Was it fun?”

“It was,” Film Brain assured him, “but it was exhausting. Not so much physically exhausting, although I wore out my wrist with the crop. Emotionally. Like I was in front of the camera and I wasn’t going to get a second take. Does that make sense?” He sat down hard on the floor and wrestled one boot off.

“That makes perfect sense,” Snob agreed. “You were putting on a performance for an audience of one.” He tugged on the heel of the other boot. “And your audience was really appreciative, let me tell you.” The boot resisted, then slid off with a swish of leather on wool.

Film Brain leaped to his feet, slipped off his briefs, and wrapped his arms around Snob, kissing him hard. “I need you to fuck me,” he whispered. “I need to get to be the vulnerable one again.”

Snob scanned the room for the condoms and lube, and found them next to the discarded helmet. “Don’t have to ask me twice,” he said, grinning.

Despite his best efforts, it didn’t take long; between his own arousal, having been thoroughly fucked just minutes before, and Film Brain’s tender pleas for reassurance, he found himself rocketing towards his own climax all too soon.

“Just hold on to me,” Film Brain moaned as Snob claimed his mouth with another kiss.

“Never letting go,” Snob promised. “Never, never, you’re so good to me.”

Film Brain’s eyes were wide as Snob felt the tension start to uncoil. “I do try,” he said, smiling, as Snob felt the world explode and reform behind his eyeballs.

Afterwards, Film Brain curled up with his head against Snob’s chest as Snob petted him gently. “I’ve been practicing with the riding crop,” he murmured.

“I could tell,” Snob chuckled. “Your aim was pretty good.”

“Especially considering how small the target was,” Film Brain agreed.

Snob snorted. “Are you saying I have a bony ass?”

“Yes.” Film Brain opened one eye and looked up at him. “Are you going to contradict me?”

Snob considered that for a moment. “Only if it’ll get you back in the uniform and using the crop on me again.”

“I’ll think about it,” Film Brain giggled. “Those boots are still pretty stiff.”

Snob pulled Film Brain closer and grinned like a shark, purring, “We’ll just have to break them in, then.”


End file.
